


I Just Wanna See Your Picture

by goodnight_tinyhumans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Sexting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnight_tinyhumans/pseuds/goodnight_tinyhumans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles texts Derek a lot. And sometimes accidents happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Wanna See Your Picture

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/7250.html?thread=6715730#t6715730) kink meme prompt:  
> " _Stiles accidentally texts a photo of his cock to Derek. Up to the author if he was trying to send it to someone else (anonymous fuck buddy? or uploading it to his secret blog of pornographic selfies?) or if the photo was just him curious to see what he'd look like to someone else. While panicking about his slipup, and before he can text an apology, Derek responds a lot more favorably than he was expecting. And...Derek might even be willing to send a photo of himself in return. Stiles isn't complaining._ "
> 
> Set in the nebulous post-S2 universe where the drama has evened out and everyone gets along and the bunch of them actually made it to 18. Because Stiles is not the sort of person who would post selfies to a secret porn tumblr if he weren’t legal, even if it was, you know, a secret. 
> 
> Title from Taio Cruz's Dirty Picture. It's catchy, shhh.
> 
> ~~This may or may not become a series~~.

These days, getting a text message from Stiles isn’t a rare thing. It had been at first; his phone would let out a _ding_ and there would be a message- from Erica, or Isaac, or Boyd, maybe, although he always seemed to need less attention than the others- but Stiles would only be the one texting him when the packs were in trouble. After a while, he started getting more comfortable, friendlier, and Derek started getting _what’s up_ and _so about that meeting_ texts more regularly. Somehow- and with Stiles, there is always a somehow- that had evolved into his text history with Stiles looking like a running commentary of every thought that ran through Stiles’ brain, with messages from Derek here and there.

Long story short, Derek isn’t surprised when his phone buzzes on his desk and the alert says _Stiles_. He doesn’t even think twice about the fact that it’s a picture message, because Stiles has been known to send him screenshots and pictures from textbooks before. He just clicks the link without paying attention, without even really looking at his phone, and forgets about it until a moment later when he looks down to see-

Definitely not a picture of a textbook.

It’s Stiles, or at least, Derek assumes it’s Stiles; it’s a long shot of his body, and his face has been cropped out, but Derek recognizes the gray thermal shirt he was wearing earlier that day.

It’s pretty much all that he’s wearing.

There’s a hint of what looks like pajama pants, or boxers, maybe, red-and-black plaid pushed down around his thighs, and yeah, that’s definitely Stiles’ hand, Stiles’ long fingers wrapped loosely around his own dick. Derek can’t help but stare for a moment, drinking it in, until his brain catches up and he realizes exactly what he’s looking at, clues in that there’s no way the picture was meant for him. They might be friends now, but they’re not that sort of friend; and even if Derek has entertained the thought, well, he blames it entirely on the fact that it’s been months since he’s gotten laid and Stiles is always _right there_.

He forces himself out of his stupor, backs out of the message and shuts off the screen, dropping the phone to the desk like it’s burned him. He tries to think of something, anything else, but now that he’s seen it his brain has latched on to the image and is coming up with all the different ways in which he could be touching Stiles if he were allowed.

Ignoring the phone doesn’t mean Derek can’t come all over himself with all those possibilities running through his mind.

In the end, Derek doesn’t text back, doesn’t even know what he would say; but he doesn’t delete the picture, either. It sits there, in the folder he moved it to because his betas have absolutely no boundaries, and every time he thinks of it the phone feels like a brand in his pocket.

\--

Stiles has a bit of a secret.

It’s not a huge, life-altering secret, really; not like the whole werewolf thing. He’s actually fairly sure that Scott knows about it, or might at least suspect, because they’ve always had the sort of friendship that walking into their best friend’s room to find said best friend quickly minimizing a browser window results in a thumbs-up and a playful leer. And if anything, it’s a pretty common secret, judging by the rest of the internet.

Stiles might kinda-sorta-maybe run a porn blog.

It was originally just a fun little thing he did when he first discovered the darker recesses of the Internet. He was fourteen and just starting to clue in that boobs might be just as interesting as Magic cards, and lo and behold, there was an entire website dedicated to making it super easy to make an anonymous, online collection of whatever porn he liked. He’d started out with the basics- following other blogs, reblogging each and every picture that got him hard. Eventually he refined his tastes a little, and eventually, people took notice. The Internet being what it was, it wasn’t long before people started asking for pictures of him, too, but that had always been something that just wasn’t happening.

So he’d just kept doing what he was doing. Looking back, the blog read like a guide to his nebulous sexuality. The models had changed over the years, from curvy redheads to sultry brunettes, women to men and then back to a healthy mix of both, until finally, the week he turned eighteen, he joined them.

He wasn’t dumb, so it was just some stupid mirror shot, a blurry picture of his abs and low-slung jeans with his face cropped off. But he got a thrill out of it anyway, so he kept doing it every once in a while.

And nobody had ever found out.

Until tonight, apparently, when he managed to text tonight’s picture to Derek instead of to the update address he keeps in his phone for simplicity’s sake.

Fuck.

\--

Neither of them really acknowledge it, the next time Derek sees Stiles. There’s a meeting a few days after the picture landed in his inbox, and he hasn’t really had a chance to text him or call him since, let alone seek him out to ask what the hell had been up that night. Stiles meets his eyes reluctantly but defiantly over Scott’s head as they walk through the door, a blush staining his cheeks, and Derek just raises an eyebrow, gives him a _look_. Stiles told him once that his eyebrows could write epics, all on their own, and he’s hoping that’s true because he’s trying to say _I didn’t mind_ and _did you mean it_ and _why do you drive me crazy_ and hopefully, at least some of that is going through.

Whatever effect it actually has, it apparently works, because Stiles calms down and they actually get to have a normal conversation before Stiles has to go. When he does leave, though, Stiles meets his eyes again, holds his gaze for an endless minute, before he smiles, that wicked smile he gets when he’s planning something. He breezes out with a wave, calling for Scott, and Derek is left wondering what the hell just happened.

He finds out a few hours later, when he’s about to go to bed. He’s just changed- or stripped, really, because there’s no point in wearing anything more than boxers when he’d just overheat and rip them off during the night anyway- when his phone buzzes from where it’s plugged in next to his pillow. He doesn’t check who the message is from, and that’s a bad habit he’s going to have to break himself of, because he’s entirely unprepared when he flips it open to see another picture from Stiles.

It’s definitely Stiles this time, no room for doubt; he’s lying on his back, legs falling open and half-tangled in sheets, one hand resting lazily on his hip bone. It’s not a revealing picture by any means, but the simple fact that Stiles sent it at all is revealing on its own. It’s a pretty clear sign.

And Derek still has no idea what to do with it.

He deliberates for a moment, worrying his lip between his teeth.

In the end, he snaps a picture to send back. It’s awkward, trying to take a decent picture just lying there, and looking at it he doesn’t think it’s sexy at all, but it’s the best he can do, and he doesn’t want Stiles thinking he’s ignoring him, so he just sends it.

\--

 **[12:56AM] Stiles:** :P

 **[12:57AM] O Alpha My Alpha:** What is that supposed to mean?

 **[12:57AM] Stiles:** Well there are a lot of uses for tongues derek. Why don’t you tell me

 **[12:59AM] O Alpha My Alpha:** I’ve told you you’re ridiculous right.

 **[1:00AM] Stiles:** Only all the time. But there must be something you like about me after all.

 **[1:00AM] O Alpha My Alpha:** I suppose your tongue does have its appeal

 **[1:01AM] Stiles:** Oh baby

 **[1:01AM] Stiles:** Also, oh shit. It’s late. I’m a jerk i’m sorry.

 **[1:02AM] O Alpha My Alpha:** yeah yeah. You’ll just have to make it up later.

\--

Stiles almost laughs out loud at Derek’s last text. He can just imagine Derek actually sitting there for a full minute, deliberating whether or not to send the message. He scrolls back up, eyes the picture of Derek again, deciding against setting it as his phone’s wallpaper; that would definitely fall under the category of ‘Causing Way Too Many Questions Stiles Under No Circumstances Wants To Answer Right This Second’. He leaves it up, though, the screen glowing softly in the dark, like proof that the last ten minutes actually happened.

He can't wait til tomorrow.


End file.
